


writing out our sad ending with trembling hands (i look for you in our broken memories)

by minjilix



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Kinda, M/M, Magical Realism, Metaphors, Post-Break Up, STAYtober, Songfic, lowkey, something resembling gods and deities, the metaphorical ghosts of your past become actual ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26747689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minjilix/pseuds/minjilix
Summary: “have you learnt anything?”the house creaks and calls to him, there’s the sounds of doors opening and closing in distress as they beckon him in and into the never ending hallways of the darkness that belongs only to him but a cold hand finds its place on his shoulder and he’s rooted to the spot where he’s sitting, knowing he can’t leave until he answers the question.“yes,” he lies.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	writing out our sad ending with trembling hands (i look for you in our broken memories)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i wrote this for staytober 2020 !! the prompt was Ex by skz and i had a fun time taking the lyrics and imagery from the mv and turning into this lol. i've never written something like this so forgive me if it flows a little weirdly, i tried my best and i hope you like it :] 
> 
> title from Ex by skz  
> 

_i search for you in our broken memories_

_even when i grasp one all i remember is your tears_

_i must have really lost my mind, i’m not sure_

_if i can take all this time without you, in the end you’re all i had_

_i really had lost my mind_

_i guess i really didn’t realize, it’s so hard to breathe_

_when i’m not with you, what did i have so much faith in to do that?_

_i had really lost it that day_

he walks aimlessly through the halls of the house, the cold from the outside seeping in through the wallpaper-less walls and settling deep into his bones, making him shiver in every step he takes. he looks around, trying to see in the dark, just the faintest of light coming through the cracks on the exposed bricks, chipped and hollowed. the curtains in all the windows are drawn tight, never moving even when a gust of wind from somewhere passes by, seemingly weighted down by something invisible. no light shines from them even though he thinks it's supposed to. 

a melody plays faintly from one of the rooms somewhere in the house, it seems familiar when he closes his eyes, but when he strains his ears to hear it he realizes that everything is quiet and the melody wasn’t playing in the first place. 

his steps are no louder than the shuddering breaths he takes whenever the hands reach out for him but they feel as loud as the door being slammed behind him. the floorboards creak under his weight but when he looks down there is no floor at all, so he ignores them.

there’s static in the back of his mind, like the one that makes your ears hurt when you tune in the radio on the wrong station and it feels the space up with undesirable white noise. is loud and it hurts but he thinks that maybe it's better that way, a heavy feeling in his chest tells him he should be grateful for keeping out whatever danger lurks in the corner of his mind waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

he doesn’t remember taking any of the pictures hung on the wall but he knows that it was him who did it. recognizes the place and the feeling but not the faces in them. he thinks he should, the smiles greeting him like an old friend and their eyes twinkling even in the darkness enveloping every corner of the house. he stops in front of one of the pictures, cocking his head to the side to get a better look at the crooked frame. the smile widens and the eyes crinkle, like they are happy to see him, relieved that he’s there, yet he doesn’t feel welcome, the cold hands once again pushing against his back and urging him to move and move and _move, out, get out_. he is not welcomed, yet he doesn’t know why. 

he sees the doors to the rooms and hears the voices within them but knows that it’s not for him to open them, not those ones at least, like they are restricted and even if he tried to twist the doorknob and push they wouldn’t open, not for him. the hands stop pushing but their cold, icy fingers remain on his shoulders, gripping and tugging at his shirt as he walks, sometimes they even guide him another long and endless corridor. 

was the house this big from the outside? he can’t remember...he can’t remember anything, in fact. when did he get here? did he come through the door? is there even a front door to go through or is it simply brick walls and pictures full of moments that he’ll never get back because of something he’s sure he shouldn’t have done—he shouldn't have come here—. 

something deep within his chest aches when the walls are bare again and the pictures are no more than static in the back of his mind all over again, the memories of a smile and twinkling eyes as distant as the warm that the hands on his shoulders used to exude. 

the house whispers his name like it is something sacred but he can’t _remember_ his name and all the noises that aren’t there seem to get louder and louder in order to stop the voice from reaching him. 

there are ghosts roaming the halls, walking alongside with him, the white sheets pulled snugly over their bodies and never falling even when they get stuck in the gaps of the floorboards that are not there. they look silly, like the ghosts in the cartoons he used to watch as a kid or the improvised halloween costume his brother made for him at a last minute the first time he was allowed to go trick or treating with him —he can’t remember his brother’s face— 

_are you okay?_ the ghost that’s soaking wet and leaving puddles on the floor asks in a hushed tone, its eyes are not looking at him but at the cold hands, so he keeps quiet and doesn’t answer. 

a clock ticks somewhere deep in one of the rooms he can’t reach and a question of _what time it is_ filters through the static, followed by the curiosity of _how long have i been here_. no one answers them but the ghosts walking back and forth in the hallways stop dead in their tracks and finally look at him like he’s actually there. 

_does it matter?_ the tallest of them all says. they keep walking. 

he comes to the fuzzy conclusion that he misses the pictures despite not knowing who they are. the house groans and creaks when it hears it, disagreeing with him but not daring to do anything about it, so the thought stays there for longer than he thinks it should. 

a lonely chair sits in the middle of the hallway he’s currently cursing through and he’s suddenly made aware of the ache in his feet and the soreness of his muscles. _you can rest here_ the hands urge, pushing like they do, and he listens to them like he does. the wood is cold and uncomfortable, the chair digging uncomfortable against his back but he doesn’t complain, only sighs in relief and lets his body relax. the ghosts are nowhere to be seen anymore, they were never meant for him anyways. 

_can i close my eyes_ he asks hesitantly to the house, _yes_ the walls creak. so he closes his eyes and basks in the darkness that isn’t cold like the one he walks in, instead it’s warm and _his_. 

sleep doesn’t come but something akin to it does, he hears the sounds of the house that are not there and feels the cold hands on his shoulders tightening every few seconds but doesn’t move, stays still in place and lets his brain fool itself into thinking its finally resting. ( _i’m really worried about you,_ someone whispers to the air, knowing it won’t get the response they hope for.

 _i know, but i’m fine,_ he says, lying through his teeth and forcing his body to stay upright and his eyes to stop watering at the glare of his screen. 

_you’re not fine, you’ve barely slept this week, i’m worried ji_ —

 _i said i’m fine!_ ) 

he wakes up in a garden. there is no sun but there are also no clouds, just a vast blue sky greeting him from where he lays on the soft grass that tickles at every bit of exposed skin. a cicada sings in the background and he thinks it may be summer. he pushes himself upright with the hand that’s not clutching at the shirt he knows it used to belong to someone important, —it smells like them, like lavender and their natural sweet scent that used to make it easier for him to fall asleep in their arms after they were done with their exchange of hurtful words and tearful apologies— when he looks ahead he see the house, the curtains open and the windows clean yet the inside so dark he can see his own reflection like it was a mirror. the hands are no longer there and he misses them. he misses a lot of things. 

a flower calls his name and he listens to it, watches as its red petals flow in the wind and fall onto the grass with the whispers of an apology he could never say. there's a path of stones carved just for him and for the first time in what feels like years he hesitates in his steps as his mind urges him to follow it. unlike the dark and empty hallways inside the house, he knows what is waiting for him at the end of this path. 

the trees around him seem to sway and move along with the steps he takes, twisting and turning to keep their eyeless gazes locked onto him even as he drifts further from their reach. the flowers that try and fail to follow after him are the same ones that he once bought as an empty apology for a mistake he still isn’t sure exactly what it was, but they weep and sob like he did that night as their petals whiter the same way _they_ did. 

_he’s_ sitting by a tree when the path finally comes to an end and he is left standing in what seems to be the same garden but bigger. a cat curled into _his_ lap and contently purring away though he can’t hear the noise. 

“took you long enough,” _he_ says with a giggle that makes his heart skip a beat and the white noise in his mind drown out. dainty fingers delicate in the way they card through the cat’s orange fur and he is reminded of a distant memory he actually can’t remember. “i thought you may have gotten lost,” _his_ smile is just like the one in the pictures.

“impossible not to,” he finds himself replying, his own voice unfamiliar to his ears. “with how big that place is.” the hands stop moving and the cat makes a distressed noise, the feeling of cold fingers digging into his shoulders makes itself at home in his chest. 

“is not _that_ big,” _he_ scoffs, “you just have a lot of regrets.” _he_ says as if it makes perfect sense, and he supposes it does.

the tree _he’s_ leaning against weeps and wails, its branches reaching out and dragging and _dragging_ against the soil of the garden, making dents on the perfect, leveled green grass and leaving only dark, wet mud behind. 

“who are you?” he asks, tightening his hold on the shirt he hasn’t let go of since he woke up, the scent of lavender grows stronger despite this part of the garden being devoid of any flowers except the ones in _his_ hair. 

“you know who i am, silly,” the sweater _he’s_ wearing is the same shade as the sky above them and his eyes hurt when he looks at it, the heart embroidered on it beating and bleeding.

“do i?” 

_he_ hums, pointer finger against his chin as _he_ thinks, “does it matter?” does it? maybe, maybe not.

the sound of shattering glass echoes from inside the house and rattles the windows, but he doesn’t dare look, knowing all he’ll see is his own pitiful reflection and the worst decision he’s ever made sitting and waiting for him to join. 

“who am i?” he asks instead. the cat springs to its feet, walking with grace towards him and walking swiftly between his legs, a path in circles it seems to be familiar with. 

( _look, even soonie wants you to rest, how can you say no to this cute face?_

he scoffs, the beginnings of a laugh seeping through his words, _like this,_ the door slams shut.)

“you know the answer to that.” _he_ says it with a certainty that he can’t question. the cat meows, the tree weeps and lavender fills his senses. 

“i do,” jisung breathes out, lungs burning and heart beating loudly in his ears, the blood coursing through him feels as cold as the words that keep replaying in the back of his mind, louder than the painful static, white noise no longer protecting him from his own regrets. 

_he_ smiles once again, clearly satisfied with the answer, and pats the empty expanse of grass next to _him_ , beconning jisung to sit next to _him_. so he does, feet finally moving away from the end of the stone path, they drag against the ground and almost leave muddy imprints like the tree that’s still weeping did before. 

the grass is soft under his fingertips and tree is cold against his back, _he_ doesn’t exude any warmth but jisung thinks he can faintly remember how it felt to be pressed up against _him_ under the covers of their bed during unforgiving winter nights, trying to fend off the freezing cold without the aid of their broken heater. 

“what is this place?” jisung wonders out loud.

“you asked for it.” is the response that he gets, and even though it doesn’t answer his question he doesn’t press on it. 

up close jisung can see the flowers on _his_ hair more clearly, their white petals shining unnaturally bright and contrasting against the black hair they are nestled in.

( _how did you know these are my favorite flowers?_ soft lips ask against his and it takes jisung a moment to register the question, eyes closed and mind content.

 _i asked felix_ , jisung hums, his arms tightening around _his_ waist.) 

“i gave those to you once,” he doesn’t dare lift his hand to touch the flowers, knows he isn’t allowed—or maybe he doesn’t allow himself to do it, knowing that once he lets his hands wander free they’ll try and feel what they used to when they still could without the lies curling around his wrists and his tongue like vices. 

a song he’s familiar with starts playing, sung by the flowers that couldn't follow him and backed up by the cicadas that bask in the rays of the sun that isn’t shining on the sky over them. jisung thinks he once wrote the lyrics for this specific song but now he can’t remember them, the words foreign when _he_ starts to form them, soft lips moving in the way they always used to hypnotize jisung. he wonders why he stopped listening. a ghost looks at them through the dark windows and its eyes are so sad jisung thinks he may cry. 

“you’ve shed enough tears, some weren’t even your own to cry.” _his_ voice is saccharine sweet and smooth like honey, but it grinds in jisung’s ears and makes the back of his head throb with what he knows is a migraine. he’s tempted to ask what that means but a part of his mind tells him sadly that he already knows the answer to that too. “have you learnt anything?” 

the house creaks and calls to him, there’s the sounds of doors opening and closing in distress as they beckon him in and into the never ending hallways of the darkness that belongs only to him but a cold hand finds its place on his shoulder and he’s rooted to the spot where he’s sitting, knowing he can’t leave until he answers the question. 

“yes,” he lies.

( _were you really with chan?_

_yes_ , he lies, not looking at _him_ in the eyes. his facade not strong enough to stay upright in the face of _his_ hurt) 

“when will it stop?” 

( _when will it stop?_ dark eyes look at him like he’s the sole reason for their heartbreak, and the unwanted pride in his chest roars its ugly head and keeps him from trying to pick up the broken pieces.

 _wouldn’t it’d be better if it stopped now?_ ) 

“it already did,”

( _it’s done, i can’t go back_

chan sighs, looking at him like jisung is a particularly bratty child that won’t listen to his reprimands. he cowers under his gaze and pretends to be busy revising the lyrics of a song he no longer wants to sing because it wouldn’t be as sincere as it was four months ago when he started it. 

_whatever you say,_ chan gives up.)

when the cat comes back its fur is matted and unkempt, dirtied by the mud of the garden and silent tears, a necklace dangling from its mouth, equally as dirty as the poor animal. _he_ cooes and laments when the cat sits on _his_ lap again, promising to take care of it after everything is over. the necklace finds its home on jisung’s open hand. 

( _i know it’s cheesy but,_ he feels his cheeks and ears grow hot, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous habit _i...saw these and thought of us_

the blue velvety box is open wide, letting them both see two necklaces entangled with each other in what seems like a careful and intricate dance. _he_ gasps, delicate hands prodding at the necklaces with an unique care.

_i love them.)_

he feels the tears run down his cheeks before he registers the burn in the back of his eyes, hot and painful as they burn his cheeks with a thousand unspoken words he doesn’t have the right to even write down. 

“your apologies were as empty as your promises,” the tree behind them laughs as jisung sobs, breaking the ground in quick whips as if saying _you feel it now?_ , the grass is soft but it tears his skin unforgivingly when his chest heaves and he puts his weight on the hands that’s sitting on the ground, the other clutching the necklace and the shirt close to his heart and trying to remember how it felt when they weren’t just pieces of broken memories from someone equally as broken. 

the flowers in _his_ hair mock him with their meaning, the same meaning he smiled and wrote about in the blank pages of his notebook and in stray napkins during their dates as he stared into _his_ eyes, basking in the warmth of the smile that was meant just for him and no one else. why did he ever let that go? he can’t remember now, can’t bring himself to find the reasons why he tore everything apart. he must’ve had a reason right? a reason why he would hurt the most precious thing in his life. was it because he wasn’t ready just yet, or was it that wrong idea of thinking _freedom_ equaled not being tied down.

 _tied down_ to what, if he never had it in the first place, did he? never deserved those smiles or the soft touches, the melody of a voice singing _their_ song on a lazy sunday morning. was it all his fault or were they both running away from something they couldn’t control. was _he_ just as scared of being consumed by it as jisung was?

“i think _he_ accepted it way before it happened…” a white flower falls gently from _his_ hair to the ground and gets torn apart by the blades of grass. “knew that falling was guaranteed and _he_ might as well just brace for the landing.”

“does _he_ regret it?” 

“i don’t.” 

( _i love you_ , it is said with such reverence jisung can’t help but shiver. he doesn’t say anything back but he hopes the way his hands tighten around his waist and his kisses become more insistent are enough to get his point across.)

jisung tries to remember a moment where he wasn’t scared of falling, maybe that time in fourth grade where he was dared to jump from the tallest tree in the backyard of his friend’s house, fueled by the same pride that has walked him hand in hand into the house and into the garden. but he broke his arm that time and the fear never went away, so maybe that was the catalyst for it. his fears of heights and his fear of falling making themselves at home deep within his chest and behind his rib cage, a habit it is. so maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised when he found himself running away at the first sign of a possible tumble into an unknowing fall, brown eyes, sweet smiles and a soft voice tugging at his limbs to drag him into a well with seemingly no end. 

( _why!? what did i do wrong!?_ nothing, he wants to say, it’s not you, his heart sobs. but it's so over used and cliché no matter how true it is it’ll still feel like a lie. he’s not sure if anything he has said these past weeks, or maybe even months, has been true. 

the silence stretches, his mouth remains shut despite the words wanting to tumble from his tongue. jisung doesn’t look at _him_ in the eyes, he can’t remember the last time he did.

 _i don’t understand...why…_ )

“do you want it to end?”

the ghosts on the windows are begging him to say yes while the walls of the house scream scandalized and try to pressure him into saying no. the hollow eyes of the ghosts look at him unseeing, the memories of what they used to be making them unable to move on and out of the house, he feels it in his bones their need to run and leave, to go back to what they once were, free and devoid of any knowledge of empty walls and dark, endless hallways. he knows there’s a white sheet waiting for him draped over the back of a chair and his hands shake with the realization that he could never escape from his past no matter for how long he walks without looking back. 

“yes.” the windows rattle with the force of the house weeping and screaming, soundless curses. the sky above them darkness with unshed tears and the flowers sing in unison an agonizing song that shatters the feeling of home that hides behind his rib cage as it's ripped away. 

( _move in with me,_ he proposes, excited and naive.

 _w-what? are you serious?_ , the ghost of a smile on _his_ lips, shy and hopeful

 _yes!_ jisung laughs, heart skipping a beat when a hand finds its place on the back of his neck and plush lips move against his own in their silent agreement.)

one time when jisung was seven, he woke up from a nightmare so intense he thought it was real. the feeling of the monster chasing him and sinking its claws into him so vivid he cried until his head hurt and his lung constricted painfully with every breath. he didn’t calm down until the sun rose and his mom found him curled up in a ball under his sheets, cowering and shaking and so afraid of every noise that he almost screamed when her footsteps turned into a gentle hand laying on his shoulder. 

this time he wakes up in an empty bed, the feeling of freezing darkness seeping into his bones as real as the sensation of cold sheets sliding between his clenched fingers. the pillow is wet with tears and regret, a single white flower lays next to his head and his eyes burn with realization. 

it is amazing how time always moves at the same speed yet it can feel like it isn’t moving at all, or like it moved a tad too fast. a month can feel like a week, and sometimes two months can feel like an entire year, yet when you check your calendar it’s only been sixty days since the worst decision you’ve made. _time isn’t real_ his friends joke, but it very much feels as real as the heartbreak that he’s been sharing his home with.

if chan were here right now, he would tell him to slow down and think before doing anything he might regret, but chan isn’t here and jisung can’t really remember the last time he thought before doing anything, impulsiveness running in his veins as if it were blood. there’s no one to stop him when he stumbles out of bed almost in a frenzy, pulling on the first clothes he finds and checking the time on the clock on his nightstand. he moves through the house with urgency, almost falling on his face when he trips on the clothes laying haphazardly on the floor —six months ago there would’ve been someone yelling at him to pick that up before the cats think they can use it a their sand box or a chew toy. he never thought he’d miss that—

he puts on a jacket, that he thinks its not his but the smell of lavender has faded long ago so it might as well be, and takes a deep breath, hand trembling where it grips the doorknob of his front door and opens it with a little too much force. he’s never been the best at controlling his emotions when they overpower him. 

is cold outside but the sun sits brightly in the sky, shining down on the streets and warming him as best as it can. he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and walks a little faster, ignoring the faint ache in his legs and the burning in his lungs. 

the building grows closer and he thinks of what he’s gonna say once he’s there, the words that come to him for his songs or poems suddenly seeming to decide that this time he’s on his own. _hi, i had a weird dream and you were in it, wanna get back together?_ , jisung has never been punched by _him_ but he thinks that’s a pretty solid way of winning a fist to the face. 

the glass doors of the apartment complex are heavier than he remembers when he pushes them open, or maybe is his lack of sleep making him weaker, either way he stumbles inside the lobby and smiles embarrassed at one of the residents coming down from the stairs. he waits until they are gone to make a run for the stairs, knowing the elevator probably hasn’t been fixed since the last time he came to visit. if he remembers correctly seungmin has classes until six today, so _he_ must be alone and jisung runs no risk of being punched in the face with a book or yelled at to get out. 

he’s winded by the time he gets to the third floor, breaths uneven and chest heaving as he looks for the right door. should he knock? or should he send a text first? no, that’d be creepy _open up im outside_ what kind of weirdo—he ends up knocking, impulses quicker than his brain.

there’s a beat of silence where he waits with bated breath and wonders if maybe he got the timing wrong and _he’s_ not even home today. but then the door opens, and his blood roars in his ears accompanied by the rhythm of his erratic heart as _he_ stands in front of him, hair mussed and clothes wrinkled, blinking in that way he does when he’s just woken up. the artificial light from the hallway shines down on them, making his skin look honey gold and his long eyelashes cast shadows on the highs of his cheekbones. 

“jisung?” 

“hey, minho hyung…”

the scent of lavender and something sweet fills his senses and jisung knows he’s not afraid of falling anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> the flowers that are in minho's hair are gypsophila, their meaning is "i want to be with you forever", is minho's favorite flower and also a reference to my other minsung one shot lol. you can tell i like using flowers as metaphors lmao 


End file.
